


the bird and the bee

by Klazoskeksis



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Romance, Multi, Pre-Mutation Warren, Reader is gender neutral, Slow Romance, more tags to be added of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-04-06 11:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19061440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klazoskeksis/pseuds/Klazoskeksis
Summary: Reader is a new intern at the local news station, platform to a . . . somewhat (?) well-known news anchor.(AKA: awkward office romance with the dorkiest dumb blond around)





	1. kick around (like we've got mountains of time)

        You take a deep breath as you brief yourself again of your responsibilities. Number one, the most nervewracking, would be breaking news broadcasting. Beyond that, you’d also have to otherwise be present for filming, post-production editing, news gathering, and basic journalism. 

        You sit somewhat nervously beside one of the cameras, holding a clipboard tight against your chest as you watch everyone get into order - they weren’t expecting too much of you within your first week of internship, thank god. Nonetheless, you jump when one of the news anchors calls you over.

        You hurry over to where she sits tall and proud, a young man concentrating on applying her face powder for her. You aren’t sure if you pity or envy him. “Yes, Miss Balmaceda?” 

        She rolls her eyes, although the gesture seems more passive than malicious. “Carly.”

        “Right! Carly.” 

        “Just wanted to get to know the new intern, make sure you can get comfortable here.”

        “Ohh, thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be able to-” you quip, but she cuts you off with a snort of laughter.

        “You say that now, but just wait ‘til the princess gets in for his morning shift.”

 

        There’s quiet for a moment as the cogs turn in your head, trying to conjure the image of another anchor you might know. 

 

        “My ears are burning, Carly!” a man calls as he turns the corner into the broadcast room, walking briskly and seemingly without care for your personal space as he shoves his coat into your arms. You jump slightly, glancing between the purple coat and the man fixing his tie in front of you, and for a second you feel as though you’ve forgotten all basic motor functions in your panic.

        “Says something about you that you heard the word ‘princess’ and knew I meant you, doesn’t it?” Carly retorts, her tone chipper with an underlying hint of venom. 

        “Excuse me, but isn’t this my turn for the spotlight, anyways?” he scowls, fitting into the seat beside her.

        “It’s a morning broadcast, Stone. Watching a man and a woman talk about local puppy shelters at 8am makes America very happy.”

 

         You look between the two as they bicker, seemingly a part of their routine working together. The jacket slips from your grip for a moment, prompting you to toss it back into place against your midsection - which catches Mr. Stone’s attention. He looks to you abruptly, his mood seemingly soured from talking to Ms. Balmaceda.

         “You know, usually when people eavesdrop, they do it secretly.” 

         “Oh, um, I didn’t mean to,”

         “They and I were having a conversation until you interrupted us, actually.” Carly cuts in to take the heat off of you.

         Feeling slightly embarrassed at the social faux pas, he turns to you with a look of consideration, causing you to fidget under the sudden direct eye contact.

         “Oh. Well . . . say, would you mind running to get coffee? The crap they have in the office is too bitter if you ask me."

_         "Princess." _

 

          You huff a breath of relief as you make your way back in through the blue double-doors of the side entrance, tray of coffee cups in hand. You had been out certainly longer than you had hoped, because of course Mr. Stone wouldn't just order any old coffee that takes, say, a simple 5 minutes to make - but rather, very specifically, a cinnamon dolce latte with no foam, two pumps of caramel syrup, breve instead of 2%, light whipped cream, extra caramel drizzle, and warmed to a specific temperature (a drink which took the baristas a total of 11 minutes to find the time to make). 

          Catching your breath, you walk out into the production studio, though stop abruptly when you see the comparatively bright purple jacket of Mr. Stone out of the corner of your eye. You swerve a bit, making a B-line for him with just a little more pep in your step and a tight-lipped customer service smile. You take quick note of the way Warren holds his jacket away from his white button-up, as though trying to prevent it from touching something, though you aren't exactly sure what. Figuring he must have spilled water on himself - you feel safe making assumptions about him already - you ignore this. 

          He turns, staring at you blankly for a moment before his face floods with something akin to basic recognition. "Oh!" He chirps, quickly reaching for the cup with the longest modification note. "Great." He says, tone completely genuine.

         Your smile shifts to something more natural, eyes scrunching up as a gesture of warmth before you instinctively turn away from the prolonged eye contact. In an attempt to make the movement less of what many people might consider 'rude', you duck out of the room with a false sense of purpose - half-heartedly trying to find Carly. 

         You quickly find her in the main newsroom, sat on the tacky orange couch tucked against the left side of the studio, a small puppy in her arms and a guest sat across from her. Your expression tightens a bit as you approach, trying not to get too excited about the . . . is that a fucking pomeranian? You fail instantly, seating yourself next to Carly, quickly handing her her coffee and placing the cardboard tray at your side

        "Oh! Thank you, my dear." She hums contentedly, shifting the puppy into your lap in exchange for her drink. 

        "Gosh, I leave for a little while and I just completely miss the fact that you guys were  _ actually _ handling puppies today?"

        "Yeah. Best part was when  _ precious lil Elvis here,"  _ she reaches out with her free hand to scratch under the pup's chin. ". . . did the viewers a treat and pissed on Warren!" She sings the words, clearly having taken proper enjoyment in the sight. You snort a laugh, absentmindedly petting Elvis.

         You figure you might keep around here as long as you can.


	2. wasting time is all there's ever been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short but Perhaps Intriguing chapter while i hibernate

 

                       "I need a uh, grande iced caramel macchiato with-"

                        "For Warren?" The barista chirps, sharpie hovering over the exterior of the cup in her left hand.

                        You find yourself tongue-tied at the suddenness of the interruption, the woman seemingly completely ahead of you in your schedule. Shaking your head slightly to clear away the mild surprise, you smile brightly and hum in affirmation - pausing before adding a tentative "please". 

                         "And that's with light ice, breve, extra caramel drizzle, whipped cream, and caramel drizzle on top of that, right?" 

                          "Yes, thank you."

                          "No problem, you can wait on the other side for your order."

 

                           You move towards the other end of the counter, your pager going off just as you lean against the wall. Swiftly tugging it up into your peripheral, you groan in annoyance.

 

**WHERE ARE YOU??? - W**

 

You move to reply.

 

**MY PHONE IS LOCKED IN TAMMY'S OFFICE AND I HAD TO ORDER MANUALLY**

A pause. You go to type again.

 

**BACK IN 6 MINS MY DUDE**

 

A second passes before your pager goes off again. You wonder for a moment if he was just hovering, waiting for a response from you. The idea makes the corner of your lip pull up into a smile - you had to admit, it felt nice to be needed, even if it was just for coffee runs and news scripts. 

 

**SINCE WHEN WAS I YOUR DUDE? - W**

 

Oh. You forgot he's 33. You consider how to reply, before settling on:

 

**SINCE NOW I FUCKIN GUESS**

 

You cringe a bit. That could have been more professional, but hey, already sent. You get one last message as you're grabbing his coffee, a simple and ominous:

 

**THANKS - W**

 

                             You grin widely down at the small, dim screen before starting your brisk walk back to the office. 

 

You let out a heavy sigh of basic contentment as you set his coffee down on the desk in front of him, his eyes immediately perking up to read along the modification receipt. He clears his throat briefly and reaches out to quickly take a sip, his free hand waving slightly as if to say “great work”. He detaches himself from the straw and looks to you to say “Great work.”

“Mhhm. You know the baristas are evolving to recognize me as your body double?”

“What?”

“They see me there so often they’re recognizing me as Warren Stone’s personal coffee jock.”

“Hah, ‘Warren Stone’s Personal Coffee Jock’, huh? That sounds worth a raise.”

“You say that as one of the few men here who doesn’t have a hand in how much I get paid.”

“I’ll get there someday.”

“That definitely sounds like a threat, sir.” you grin, brow quirked.

He rolls his eyes as a defensive mechanism to cover the fact he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying. “Why would  _ I _ want to dock your pay? I’m a generous man, I think.”

“Aw, are you saying you think my hard work is undervalued and I deserve the world? Because if yes, you’re right, and I like the way you think.” You giggle, having an internal argument with yourself about whether a playful wink would be appropriate. You decide against it, and your eyes flutter involuntarily. There’s quiet for a split second as he gives you a quick once-over, as though considering something. Your heartbeat stutters for a second at the odd attention.

“You know? Great minds think alike!” he pauses, glancing off to the side, replaying what he just said in his head. “That is, to say, I think the same way about my own career. Reporting is thirsty work.” he quickly adds to clear the awkward sentiment, going back for another sip of his drink to avoid saying anything else. You cautiously put your hand on his shoulder and smile when you see social-induced panic in his eyes, giving his shoulder-pad a friendly pat before departing from him. 

“Catch ya later, my dude.” you call back, grinning.

 

He looks back at you before turning back to his drink with wide eyes, and then back to you. “Heyheyheywaitaminute!” he manages, bringing the straw to his lips as you turn back to face him.

“Uhm. Yes?”

“You and me should go get coffee sometime.”

“Are you trying to build a symbiotic coffee relationship with me, Mr. Stone?” you huff a laugh, fidgeting with your hands. 

“Lunch, then.”

 

You mull it over in your head for a long moment, and in that time Warren looks almost bashful. “Yeah, that’d be neat. I’m free Thursday after the morning shift.”

“Outstanding. Uh,” he glances off to the side and then back at you. “See you then, my, uh . . . my dude?”

You clasp a hand to your mouth to mute your abrupt snort of laughter. “Yeah, that’s the spirit!” You wipe a mirthful tear from the corner of your eye and turn to leave again, waving with a smile.

 

Warren sits still, mind racing, before a dumb look of pride settles on his face. He adjusts his tie and pretends to focus on the list of talking points in front of him.


End file.
